


firelight

by cuubism



Series: whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire, Immortality Issues (Shadowhunter Chronicles), M/M, Near Death Experiences, Not Really Character Death, Post-Canon, Presumed Dead, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuubism/pseuds/cuubism
Summary: A picture can’t compare to the texture of him.whumptober day 1. presumed dead. (alt. prompt)
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949743
Comments: 20
Kudos: 101





	firelight

Magnus always knew that one day he’d be left with only a picture. He just didn’t think it would be so soon. He’d thought, foolishly, that he might have _time_ , that for once time would refrain from moving backwards or spiraling forwards out of control and just—pause. Let him revel, now that he had something he wanted to revel in. 

Foolish. Always so foolish. Time has never, not once, been his friend. Magnus has learned how to bend the shape of the universe to his will in order to travel country to country, dimension to dimension, but he’s never been able to budge time even a second out of its path. Still, he thought he’d have more of it. He’s always been drowning in surplus, after all.

It’s like something out of a cheesy film, really. He’s left with a picture. Just one. Phone shattered to pieces, loft billowing smoke as he stares up at it from the sidewalk, a singular photograph drifts down into his hand. Its edges are singed, still alight, it burns his fingertips. He’ll tattoo that burn to his skin if he has to, to remember it. He has one picture, and his memories. His memories that he almost gave up, once. That will soon vanish to time, anyway.

Isabelle’s hand lands on his arm. Magnus hadn’t been aware that he could still be touched, thought he might blow away like ash on the wind. Her grip is bracing, warm, knuckles going white. “Magnus.”

Her voice brings with it the roaring of the fire, the chatter of onlooking shadowhunters, the tumbling debris, the night wind that blows the smoke downtown, a pillar of ruin. The world snaps back into Magnus, and before he can tell himself to move he’s running for the stairs, picture crumpling in his hand.

_“Magnus!”_ Izzy yells behind him, but he simply runs, magic lightening his steps, up the dozen stories like they’re merely one. Throws the door to the loft off its hinges, not that there’s much left to throw, barrels into the living room. Smoke pours down his throat, blistering heat sets him aflame from within, this fire is magical, malicious and purposely set, it crawls up the walls with wicked speed, hungrier even than time. His eyes water.

_“Alec!”_ His voice is hoarse and scratchy already, ruined by smoke. Contracting lungs heave for air, his throat burns for water. _“Alexander!”_ He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. Smoke is filling the room, and it pushes him down to the floor, to his hands and knees, searching for clear air, for clarity. For relief from the all-consuming weight of this grief that wants to crush his lungs. The fire is a more merciful demise, he thinks, than watching the last of his water escape through tears.

“Magnus?”

Magnus crumples to the floor, face in his hands, the magic swirling around him with its mocking voices. _Magnus. Magnus. I’m alive, Magnus. Come and look at me, so I can leave you again._ He won’t give in to these cruel visions, these false images, he’ll just cling to the photo in his hand while his memories slip away with the smoke.

_“Magnus.”_

A hand touches his face. Magnus looks up, blinking through tears. “Alexander?” He’s— he’s _here._ And he’s not— there are holes singed in his shirt, embers catching in his hair, but his skin is unburned, the lines of his body strong and unbroken, eyes brighter than the inferno around them. “You— you—”

“You protected me,” Alec says. “You always protect me.” He shows Magnus his ring, which is pulsing with a pale blue light. Magnus reaches out to touch it, feeling the gentle coolness of his magic. An ember falls from above to land on his wrist, and he gasps as it burns. “Now you have to protect yourself.”

Instead, Magnus reaches up both hands to cradle Alec’s face, thumbs running over his cheeks, soothing away nonexistent tears. He leans in to kiss him, falling into him desperately, overheated body seeking the coolness of his touch.

A picture can’t compare to the texture of him.

Soft lips, stubble, the grain of soot across his skin, the silkiness as Magnus’s hands stretch up to twine into his hair. The fabric of his shirt torn to ruin, the bold line of his jaw, the wall of his chest that holds Magnus up, the strong arms that come up to wrap around him.

Alec holds him tight, hands splayed across his shoulder blades as if to guard him. He kisses him again, then again, then says, “We need to get out of here.” Magnus lets Alec pull him to his feet, hands clasped tightly together, not letting go. Alec pulls him along, and they run, and thank God he’s there because without him Magnus isn’t sure he’d have gotten out, too crippled by shock and agony to even think of saving himself. He still feels frozen by it, the almost-loss. It will take a long time for his heart to thaw again.

They make it outside, clothes burned to hell, and Magnus looks down at his skin to see not a scratch on him, and that must have been Alec’s doing, because Magnus certainly didn’t remember to cast a protection spell on himself. There was no time in between the grieving and the reunion.

The cold night swallows them, extinguishing the remaining embers. Alec looks down at their joined hands, at what’s still held between them. “What do you have?”

Magnus shows him the photograph, crumpled almost beyond recognition, charred and soot-stained, melded into the shape of his palm. It’s of their wedding, not the ceremony, but after, when Alec, despite all his valiant practice, had tripped while they were dancing, landing them both on the floor, Magnus on Alec’s chest, Alec catching him. They’re both laughing, and Magnus remembers thinking that, though he might have some bruises the next day, it was worth it to see Alec laugh, laugh about a mistake, a moment that, in an earlier life, he might have been desperate to forget. To see him laugh with abandon, that was the true gift of Magnus’s first dance as a married man.

It’s all gone now, turned to ash, and even magic can’t restore what’s been lost to smoke. All the photographs, gone, their home, gone, its memories, splintered into the air like Magnus’s own will be, one day. He stares up at the pillar of light burning itself onto the night sky, blocking out what little stars the city’s light pollution leaves them.

Alec taps his arm. “Hey,” he says. There’s a soft smile on his lips, even with the light of the fire catching in his eyes. “Dance a new dance with me?”

Magnus takes his hand and kisses it, and reminds himself: he has this. He has _him._ The rock upon which all else is anchored. Everything else can be rebuilt. He’s been forged in fire. He’s never let it destroy him.

Usually, he’s danced in the flames.

He holds Alec’s hand, feels the real weight of him, solid where the flames and smoke are ephemeral. He lets Alec twirl him, starting to laugh despite himself because they’re _still here_ , even when the whole world wants to burn them down.

Because for now, at least, Magnus has more time in the light.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://cuubism.tumblr.com) :)


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